


the greatest treasure of all

by nayt0reprince



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Found Family, Gen, One Shot, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: for the first time ever, tressa is not home to celebrate the solstice with her family.and for the first time ever, someone unexpected is willing to at least try to make things a little less difficult.





	the greatest treasure of all

**Author's Note:**

> HHHHH GUESS WHO FORGOT TO WRITE THIS IN ADVANCE BECAUSE OF ZINE PIECES. THIS GUY. I’M WINGING IT I’M SORRY MERRY WINTERMASKAH I LOVE OCTOPATH TRESSA IS BEST DAUGHTER HERE WE GO LEMME KNOW WHAT YA THINK

Winter solstice arrived at Rippletide each year with a myriad of merchants, their goods, and a buzzing anticipation filling every empty nook and cranny along the icy wharfs. Tressa could picture it now: the colorful handmade banners hanging from thatch to thatch, the meager piles of half-melted snow adorning the seabanks, the smells of fresh baked Ripple Cakes (filled with their signature cream) wafting through the stalls and crowds swarming the marketplace, and the flutes of old minstrels waltzing in time with her mother’s violin beckoning crowds to accompany their tune for a dance or three. 

Their little shop transformed, too. Candles and flowering bushels lined their countertop. New seasonal spices sprawled out underneath the glass display from lands with names she couldn’t properly pronounce. A line of solstice wines, available only once a year, filled the shelves for maybe half a day before they sold out, leaving said-shelves barren once again. What Rippletide lacked in size it made up for in its celebrations - an end to another successful (or otherwise) year. No other seasonal solstice compared. Sure, spring summer and autumn all had their smaller and more manageable festivities, but _winter_ truly brought everyone back together.

Tressa looked forward to it every year. It was one of the few times the sleepy shoreside town became exciting. When she could see everyone’s puffing breaths, when the moon’s face changed from waxing to quarter to gibbous, when the days shrunk hour by hour, a telltale twinkle filled her eyes much like the promises of seeing new treasures filled her dreams. Any merchant worth their salt would be a _fool_ to dislike the winter solstice. Her Mom and Pops felt the same way.

But this year was different. This year, huddled in a tiny inn room as a raging snowstorm howled outside the window and halted all progress, she wouldn’t get to see it. The stalls. The people. The smiles. Mom and Pops, and their little surprises they’d leave for her on the breakfast table beside a plate full of chocolate chip pancakes.

For the first time in awhile since she began traveling, Tressa actually _missed_ home.

She slumped onto the windowsill and sighed. The quiet Flamesgrace, despite solstice being a mere day away, showed no signs of impending festivities. She reckoned the folks _had_ no reason to celebrate _more_ snow, given the climate rarely changed from week to week. In fact, everyone in town looked downright miserable; a stark contrast to the overwhelming _glee_ home had.

She sighed again. Behind her, Linde snorfled in her sleep, tail thwapping against the creaky floorboards. H’annit rolled over, muttering incomprehensible words drowned out by the sheets crinkling. The others were probably asleep, too, possibly dreaming of finally being able to leave this place to get to Stillsnow. This storm, ravaging the Frostlands for an unbearable two days already, made them hunker down in Ophilia’s hometown. Tressa couldn’t even see the moon, but she bet it kept inching closer to becoming full.

No pancakes on solstice morning.

No big old headpats.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. What a silly thing to get so upset over! No wonder her rival called her a green pea. She puffed her cheeks and hopped off the rickety chair while rubbing her upper arms. Even with the fireplace crackling, the room had an unshakeable chill draping over her shoulders. 

Her stomach growled. Thinking about pancakes was a mistake.

She tiptoed across the room (last time she tramped about, H’annit, who Tressa couldn’t blame, almost shot her with a bow in mistaking her for a predator) and snuck out, closing it meekly behind her. The halls were dark, even with the remaining lit candles flickering. Hopefully the innkeep left little snacks for their guests in the lobby that she could help herself to. With a yawn, she scuffed her socks along the shaggy carpet and into the lobby. No one manned the front desk; the front door was locked at this hour, preventing any stragglers from sneaking in.

Some fat cookies and a pitcher filled with water sat beside some clean mugs. _Perfect._ Tressa eagerly plucked one up - _raisins,_ darn it, and she touched it, so she had to eat it now. She opened up to take a bite--

\--and immediately dropped it with a shriek when _something_ tapped her shoulder.

“ _Eyah!”_ She whirled around, her mind already dreading the worst (a thief? A ghost? A _ghost thief?_ ) as she readied to defend herself with a raised hand, only to stop when she noticed a mop of white hair. She was right - a thief, and the worst one of all. Of _course._ She huffed and tapped her foot, sticking her nose up in the air. “What was _that_ for?!”

Mophead leaned back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His bangle glinted in the candlelight. “What are _you_ doing up?”

“You can’t just answer a question with another question, Therion.” She scooped up the fallen cookie and inspected it. Nothing seemed to be wrong with it. With an incredulous look, she risked a bite. Yup. Still raisins. Bleh.

“Gross.”

“No one asked for your opinion. Merchants shouldn’t be wasteful with their purchases or gifts.” She took another pointed nibble and swallowed down the sins of mankind condensed into a shriveled fruit. “I got hungry. What about you?”

Therion’s eyebrows raised in amusement at her wrinkled nose and mild gagging sounds. _Jerk._ He gave a shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” His gaze shifted toward the window. “Never seen you up this late, though. Unlike the rest.”

Unlike the rest? She forced a swallow for the last cookie lump. Given their differing and struggle-filled journeys, maybe there were nights the others couldn’t sleep. Tressa’s quest, in comparison to the rest of her determined (or aloof) companions, seemed like child’s play to Primrose’s hellbent quest for vengeance, or even Cyrus’s grandiose tale of peeling back a disturbingly demonic plot layer by layer. She just wanted to find a treasure in Victor’s Hollow before a big festival in Grandport. And here she was, moping over some silly holiday! Her shoulders sagged.

Therion - because _of course_ he did - noticed.

“So something _is_ bothering you.”

“What’s bothering me is that you’re acting _weird._ ” She put her hands on her hips. “Where’s the Therion that would jab at me, huh? This ‘caring’ thing is downright _bizarre._ ”

He returned her pressing stare. Traces of surprise mixed with disbelief swirled in his slightly widening eye. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again with a snort. He folded his arms across his chest and turned away. “I’m not _caring,_ ” he corrected, paused for a moment, and then licked his lips as he tried to think of a follow-up statement for proof. Tressa waited; proof never came, just a thick silence looming over them blanketing a hard truth Therion refused to acknowledge, but one they both knew anyhow.

Fine then. She decided to let him off the hook, just this once. Pushing too hard would get him to clam up like a frightened Hermit Conch. She laced her fingers together before leaning against the front desk’s table. “It’s going to sound dumb,” she said, “and you’ll just poke fun.”

“Probably.” He swiped up a cookie. “It’s easy to do with someone like you.”

“ _Hey.”_

“Look,” he said between chews, “I’m not Alfyn. You can either take my ear or leave it, I honestly don’t care. I just happened to be up at the same time as your moping session.”

He poured out some water and handed it to her. She hesitated, mumbled a thanks, and took a sip. Lukewarm. At least it wasn’t freezing. She inched a little closer toward the smoldering fireplace.

“I miss home,” she admitted, voice softening a little. “This time of year makes me miss it, especially with everyone around here being so… _depressing._ No one seems ready to celebrate the solstice, and it makes me miss Mom and Pops, and…” She trailed off and squeezed the mug in her hands. “This journey is important, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, but I guess I wish I stopped by Rippletide one more time before coming back up here. Just for a little bit.” At least for a pancake.

Therion said nothing at first. His weight shifted from one foot to the other. 

“The solstice,” he echoed, glancing up at the ceiling. “Forgot that was coming up.”

“Maybe it’s not as big a deal to _other_ folk in Orsterra,” she said, “but in Rippletide, there’s a big celebration and everything. Maybe because we merchants just like throwing parties and making money, I don’t know, but there was just something _magical_ and _happy_ about it, you know?” She gestured vaguely to the room. “Here, it’s just more doom and gloom. I hate it!”

“You’re from a warmer climate. Winter isn’t a ‘happy’ time of year for the rest of us, except maybe Prim and Alfyn. People get sick and die easier in the cold.” 

She winced. “I… I know.” Well, she didn’t really _know,_ but she could guess. The bluffs Therion came from weren’t exactly full of friendly folk to lend a helping hand in the first place, so winter must have been doubly difficult. 

He glanced at her, sighed, and poured himself a glass of water. After a few glugs, he set the mug down and frowned. “Well?”

She blinked. “Well… Well what?”

“You’re Tressa. _The_ Tressa Colzione, as you like to brag.” He rolled his eye. “What do you usually do when you don’t like something? Like that rival of yours, Kali or whatever.”

 _“Ali,”_ she corrected.

“Point is,” he continued, ignoring her interjection, “out of the two of us, _you’re_ being the weird one. You don’t just quit and accept things. The Moneybags I know wouldn’t just sit and whine. She’d be out there making her _own_ celebration and selling joy to those around her somehow.” He rubbed the back of his head and made a pointed effort to not look at her. “Or something annoying like that.”

A beat passed. His words stirred a new kindling in her veins, popping a flurry of ideas in her mind. Her dulled eyes burned with a newfound inspiration, causing them to sparkle even in the dark. As much as Aelfric knew she hated to admit it, Therion was right - she _wouldn’t_ just accept everyone being stressed out and sad when there was still time to _do_ something about it.

She finished her drink and slammed the mug onto the counter, giddy with excitement. “You’re _right,”_ she said, nodding eagerly. “We still have time!”

“Wait, whoa, slow down, _we?_ ”

“Who _else?_ I can’t do it all by _myself._ You can be my little helper, like in the legend. You know, the one with the Moon King and his elves coming down to Orsterra once a year to spread cheer?”

He backed away. “You just made that up. Also, I never said I agreed to _help_ you with this crap. I’m not exactly the ‘cheerful and festive’ ty--”

“Then it’s settled!” She nodded to herself. “Tomorrow, we endeavor forth to make everyone’s holiday a little brighter! Since, well, we’re stuck here anyways.”

“Are you even _listening_ to m--”

“Well then!” She puffed up her chest and beamed. “We got a _loooong_ day ahead of us, Therion! Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite! Boy, I’m so _excited!_ Oh, I can’t get _too_ excited, or else I won’t be able to sleep, either…” She shook her head. “Alright! See you tomorrow! Let’s both do our best!”

Before he could respond, Tressa all but flew down the corridor and back into her room, bubbling with delight. Why didn’t she think of this sooner! Linde appeared miffed to be awoken by Tressa’s hurried footsteps back to her bed, snuggling deep into the blankets. So much to do, and so little time, but with Therion and the rest (if they wanted), she was _certain_ they could do it. They just had to use the supplies available to them, no biggie! If the greatest merchant in the world could sell sand in the Sunlands, then she could make this snow good for something! 

She closed her eyes, images of a happy Flamesgrace drifting through her mind.

Come thieves or high water, she would make this a winter solstice to remember.

*

She woke up late. The first strike against her merchanthood. H’annit and Linde already had left the room with the blankets neatly folded by their bed. Tressa scrambled out of her cocoon and kicked aside the tangled sheets to get her winter gear ready. So much time wasted sleeping in! Her thoughts kept her up much too late, toying with ideas about what she could do for Flamesgrace. An outdoor party was out of the question, after all. Maybe the tavern would do. If she really wanted to get ambitious, she could ask the clerics to use their church - if allowed, of course!

Those thoughts would have to wait. First, breakfast. And finding her friends.

She tumbled down the hall while fixing her hat and whizzed by the napping innkeeper. The sun decided to grace the Frostlands for the first time in possibly a week; Tressa squinted at the sky, startled by its presence. Given its height, it had to be noontime already. _Shoot._ Little blue blips peeked out from behind the otherwise gray swathes overhead. Maybe luck was on her side today - just a minor setback, that’s all! She adjusted her bag and nodded. She could do this. She just needed to plan, and…

She took one step forward and paused.

Something was… different, wasn’t it? 

She pursed her lips. Yes, something definitely was _odd_ about Flamesgrace today. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing at her surroundings to try to pinpoint what it was. The sunshine? No, even that wouldn’t be enough to turn around the atmosphere. The laughing children throwing snowballs at each other? Maybe? She hummed aloud, scratching at her chin, before snapping her fingers.

Snowmen.

All around, there were snowmen - all sporting different heights, poses, and the like. They wore funny little hats and mini garbs in a shocking amount of colors to disrupt the endless white sea. More than that, people were actually _smiling,_ going to and from the tavern nearby. Said-tavern bore a multitude of lanterns, with their flames shifting from blues to oranges to red to gold as if blessed by Cyrus’s magic, and the door held a bushel with purple flowers--

Tressa’s feet moved before she could fully comprehend what was happening. She pushed by people on her way to the tavern, apologizing over her shoulder, before barreling through the door. The little bell announced her arrival with a warm jingle, and she was greeted by laughter - rapturous laughter, and the smell of pies in the oven, and the clinking of glasses sloshing with rosy red wines, and the sight of Cyrus and Alfyn behind the counter serving food, and tantalizing plums overflowing in their weaved baskets on the tables--

She gaped. What was going on? What happened while she snoozed half the day away? Her fingertips fell from the doorknob as it swung shut behind her. 

“Tressa!” Ophilia, her cheeks reddened from smiling too much, flagged her down and waved at her to come over. Tressa blinked, and then complied, still trying to understand the scene. “Good to see you! You seemed quite tired, so we left you to sleep a little longer. I pray you don’t mind.”

“What,” she managed, “what’s going on?”

“Oh, you would not believe it! See,” Ophilia lowered her voice, “early this morning, _very_ early mind you, Therion approached Cyrus asking questions about solstice. You know about solstice, do you not, Tressa? It has been ages since Flamesgrace celebrated it properly. Anyhow, it snowballed from there - Cyrus told him the typical traditions, and Alfyn decided it was a mighty fine idea to throw a celebration after I said we haven’t in some time, and…” She tittered behind her gloved hand. “...Here we are! I must say, I’m impressed how quickly everyone worked together to get the word out and prepare for it. Even Therion helped the children make some of their snow-monsters!”

Monsters? That would explain some of the blob-like mounds with too many eyes. That aside, the news stunned Tressa like the first time she laid eyes upon a Skystone. In what _universe_ would Therion ever ask Cyrus about something on _purpose?_

On purpose.

Her brain put two and two together: on purpose, as in to get Cyrus rambling over breakfast with the others eating nearby. On purpose, as in to get Alfyn - who undoubtedly knew everyone in town like Ophilia - intrigued and propose to throw a party. On purpose, as in getting everyone together to throw a last-minute get-together, surrounded by friends and the townsfolk to brighten up spirits in an otherwise mildly destitute season for everyone.

Tressa’s gaze darted from person to person, plucking out familiar faces - Primrose dancing with the plucked strings by several clergymen; Olberic helping the barkeep pick up dishes; H’annit bewildering and awinh the local children gathering around Linde, who stood proud with her fluffy chest puffed out - but none possessed a mop for a head. 

“Where’s Therion?”

“Therion?” Ophilia paused, tapping her forefinger against her lips. Her brow furrowed. “Strange. I don’t remember seeing him after we came here to talk to the barkeep about celebrating. Maybe he went out?”

“I’ll be right back - save me a bowl for later!” Tressa gave a quick wave and darted out the tavern, sucking in cold air through grinding teeth. No way. No way! She looked around, boots crunching against the piled snow, and grimaced. Where would he even _go?_ All this time, she barely gave him the time of day, writing him off as some selfish thief (after all, that’s usually what he called _himself_ ). They got together like oil and water. 

And yet.

She found him flipping a coin at the top of a small hill overlooking the cathedral, surround by borderline grotesque snow-monsters sporting plums for noses. Small tufts of defiant grass poked out from the snow around his feet. He glanced upward with a sigh, shaking his head, before turning toward Tressa.

“What,” he said, albeit a little too gruffly. 

“You,” she took a deep breath, “you were supposed to be my _helper,_ not to take off on your own and do it all by yourself!”

He made a noncommittal sound before pocketing the coin. “I didn’t do anything,” he replied. “I just asked the wrong person a question. That’s all.”

He was lying, and they both knew it; he was so easy to read, avoiding eye-contact like he was. For someone so prickly, he could be a real softie when he tried. She smiled.

“Why aren’t you with everyone else?”

He snorted. “I’m not a celebrating kind of guy. All those people are too damn happy for my taste.” He frowned. “Why aren’t _you_ with everyone else?”

“It’s not the same without you,” she answered carefully. They were a group of eight, not seven, after all. “So, as thanks for ‘not doing anything,’ I came to get you. Can’t miss out on Alfyn’s stew, you know.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. But, despite his grumblings, he took a step toward her, walking alongside her down the towering hill. More townsfolk spilled into the snowy streets, bringing their own dishes and laughing at the many snowmen lining the buried sidewalks. Tressa hummed. Not bad. Not bad at all.

“I’m guessing you never celebrated solstice before, huh.”

Therion shrugged. “No family to, so no reason to.”

Oh. Her smile became crestfallen. Right. Therion didn’t exactly have the kindest upbringing, did he? The scars along his arms and hidden beneath his shaggy bangs were telltale enough. She puffed her cheeks in thought, then clapped her hands together. Well, if she was gonna follow Therion’s advice from before, she would have to do something about it!

“Then this will be your first!” She latched onto his arm secure enough to ensure he couldn’t escape. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”

“Hey! I never said I was _going,_ ” he complained, trying to yank free. 

“Well, you _are_ going. I said so!” She winked. “After all, this is your first year with a _family_. It’d be a darn shame if you didn’t show with everyone else waiting for you, don’t you know!”

At first, he didn’t reply - his expression shifted from disbelieving, to cynical, to something _new_ and strange. Something close to… Tressa settled on a combination of “fond” and “annoyed that she was right.” It was kind of funny, how baffled he seemed by his own feelings. She did her best not to laugh.

Therion might be as prickly as a porcupine, sure, but she knew that this journey already landed him a greater treasure than he could ever fathom to pickpocket.

“What am I going to _do_ with you all,” he mumbled, almost too quietly for Tressa to hear. 

Her smile softened.

_Thank you, Therion._

The sun may have disappeared behind the clouds once again, and the snowfall may have picked back up with a ghastly howl, but when they returned to the tavern that welcomed them with open arms and bowls full of stew, Flamesgrace never felt more warm. It wasn’t the same like with Mom and Pops, but it didn’t need to be. She nudged her shoulder against Therion’s, who put on his usual scowl, but he stayed with the rest in the snug little tavern to widdle the solstice away.

It was, for a night, home away from home - both old and new alike.


End file.
